The Weak Link
by the.eye.does.not.SEE
Summary: Punching him is just so much easier than discussing their situation like adults.


**Title** : _Weak Link_ (1/1)

 **Fandom/Universe:** _Blindspot_ , season 1

 **Rating:** PG

 **Pairing:** Jane Doe/Kurt Weller

 **Summary:** Punching him is just _so_ much easier than discussing their situation like adults.

 **Inspiration** : This fic comes as the result of a prompt that my lovely friend countryole sent me on tumblr; her introductory text is italicized below.

x x x

 _It's Kurt's suggestion, he tells her practice is what keeps you sharp, and while the idea of sparring with him is good in theory, she can't help but wonder..._

Her gut is telling her this is a bad idea. Things haven't been exactly normal between her and Kurt recently, and just the idea of going down to the training room in the basement with the express purpose of beating each other up doesn't sound like the best idea at this point in time.

Kurt, of course, doesn't bother waiting for her reply to his offer, let alone her refusal. He's already walking towards the elevators, having taken her silence as agreement, and so she follows behind, not being able to think up a good enough reason not to go along. He's right, they haven't practiced together in a while. And since they both have very different fighting styles, it'd be good to go up against each other again. Sharpen their skills, hone their reflexes.

 _But…_

There's a nagging voice in her head, whispering as they ride the elevator down twelve floors to ground, and then two more below, that this isn't such a good idea. She can't put her name on it, whatever has formed between them these last few weeks, but she knows she doesn't like it. At times, she thinks of it like a distance—for he seems so far away from her, at least mentally—but then other times, it's as if he's too _close_ , not far, and she can never make up her mind which is worse.

Because she… has feelings for him. Romantic, emotional, sexual—call them whatever you want; she has them. For him. Kurt. The man standing right next to her, who's about to strap on a pair of gloves and start throwing punches at her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she glances over at him, irrationally fearful that he can sense the trend of her thoughts. They're alone in this elevator, and the ride is starting to feel endless, and she wonders if his mind is going to the same silly places that hers is. Is he thinking about her the way she's thinking about him?

This is the first time they've been alone together—totally alone—in weeks, and she can't shake the adrenaline that's starting to run through her veins at the realization. Ever since she finally came to terms with the fact that she has less-than-professional and more-than-friendly feelings for him, they haven't been alone in a room together. It's mostly her doing, she knows. It's easy to be with him in the field, easy to be right by his side when they're out on a lead, but once they get back and there's no case to focus on or talk about, she finds herself getting lost in him. In the stupid imaginings her mind has been playing out for her, like a movie reel that she can't find a way to shut off.

Under the mounting stress, she finally broke down and mentioned it all to Borden a few days ago—he didn't seem all that surprised at her big reveal—and the psychiatrist suggested two options that's she's been waffling between for days. Either she can bury her feelings and force professionalism…

Or she can test the waters.

That was actually the phrase he used, and Jane smiles a little now, remembering that meeting.

 _It's like if you were about to take a shower, only someone else has already set the temperature for you,_ he explained. _You don't know what it's going to be like when you step in, and you can't change it. So you hold a hand out and see what you're dealing with._

She laughed then, deflecting his sincere suggestion with a standoffish form of incredulity that's quickly becoming her go-to response to the uncomfortable questions Borden has been raising in their sessions recently. _Are you saying I should ask Weller if I can hold his hand?_

Borden frowned. _You know I'm not being literal, Jane._

She hadn't had anything to say to that, and so they had fallen silent for a moment. Respecting her privacy and confusion, Borden didn't press her. They talked about other things for the rest of the session, lingered on other woes, other questions. But before she left, he reminded her. _Either you can stay like this_ — _unhappy and confused and always wondering_ — _or you can try to understand what's happening, what you're feeling, and what you can do about it. I know this is a big change, Jane. I know you don't like it, and I know it's scary. But out of all the issues you're facing, this is one you can actually solve._ He'd stared at her in silence for a moment, letting those words sink in. And then, almost as an afterthought, he added rather kindly, _Besides, Jane, you_ — _of_ all _people_ — _deserve to have some peace of mind._

That was four days ago.

And while she took his advice to heart, Jane still hasn't figured out a way to test the waters yet. It's impossible with someone like Weller. He has one personality, one speed: professional. What's she supposed to do to unlock the personal side, ask him on a date?

Jane blinks at the thought, stopping to wonder after it as the elevator starts to slow. Is that what normal people do?

When the lift slides home and the doors open, Kurt steps out first, and Jane trails behind, still thinking. They head to their respective locker rooms, Jane to the women's on the right, and Kurt to the men's on the left. Jane breathes a sigh of relief when she sees that the locker room is empty, like the training room had been outside. She's grateful for a few minutes alone, and for the methodical routine of changing, to get herself back on track. She's also grateful there's a concrete wall between her and Kurt. She's still worried that if he sees her face while she's thinking about him, he'll know.

...And then what? she finds herself wondering, as she pulls off her white tank top and switches it for another, darker one. What happens once he knows how she feels?

The thought confounds her for a time, completely pulls her up short as she stands half-dressed in the deserted locker room. She has no answer; she doesn't even have the slightest idea. What would he say? What would he _do_? For a while, she loses herself in the various possibilities, both heavenly and horrible—at least until a sharp knock on the door shakes her from her reverie.

"Hey, Jane! What's the holdup? You good to go or what?"

Startled by the sound of his voice cutting through the concrete walls around her, Jane jumps in place. Shaking her head to rid her mind of its thoughts, she shouts back to let him know she's coming, before quickly lacing up her sneakers. She grabs her gloves on the way out, and is just finishing up strapping them on when she's met with Weller outside, already waiting.

She swallows, glancing his way for just a second—but he doesn't seem any more annoyed or suspicious than usual. Jane reminds herself once more that he's not a mind-reader. He's not Borden. He doesn't know what she's got hiding in her head.

They walk to the center of the deserted training room, for once having the place, like the locker rooms, all to themselves. Jane supposes that's the reward they get for using their lunch hour as practice time.

"Okay. Today we're gonna work on weaknesses. Sound good?"

Jane nods, cataloguing hers in comparison to his as they face off, thankful for any exercise that will occupy her mind as well as her body. She focuses on herself, ticking off her own weaknesses on her fingers as she stretches. She's small, she knows that. He could pick her up and throw her into a wall if he wanted; practically anyone could. So that's one. Two, she doesn't have much muscle tone in her arms, definitely nowhere near as much as she should. She can land hits, but she can't always block them, certainly not continually, not the way she'll need to in this fight—because she knows from watching him fight these past few months that Weller likes to use his fists. A lot. He keeps all his power in his arms. Jane takes a breath, focuses, and reminds herself that she can duck. She can jump out of the way. She can hit back. She may be made of weaknesses, but she's made of strengths, too.

"You thinking about yours?"

Jane nods, flexing her fingers beneath the gloves. "Yeah."

Weller nods approvingly. "That's good. But think about mine, too—and remember that a fight's two-sided; you can't just focus on you and can't just focus on your opponent. Look at it all from both sides. Don't let yourself get pigeonholed."

Dutifully, Jane nods, eyeing him up and down as he warms up in front of her. She tries to think of what weaknesses he might have that she'd be able to exploit. He has a bad back, sure, and moved a good deal slower than her, but that hardly matters in a tight fight like this. He has brute strength on his side, and in close quarters, that's all that matters. In close quarters, that can mean life or death. What in the world does she have against that?

It's true that he can't kick like she can, can't move like she can, isn't anywhere near as flexible as she is, and she wonders if there's a way to use those shortcomings of his to her advantage. If she keeps moving, she'll probably be able to hold him off indefinitely, and maybe get a couple good hits in, too. But the second he gets his arms around her…

"You ready?"

Jane meets his eyes, mimicking his half-crouch stance. She takes a second, to calm herself before unleashing the storm. Then she nods. "Ready."

He throws the first punch, like usual. And she hops just out of reach, like usual. He follows up, one, two, three—and four, finally catching her in the ribs. It's a hard blow, enough to make her lose her breath and double over for a second. In her periphery, she can see him getting close, too close, and she knows in a second, it'll be too late. She has to move, now. She strikes out with one leg, kicking high, gritting her teeth against the sharp pain in her ribs, and manages to catch him in the shoulder, even grazing his chin a bit, to throw him back. As he staggers away, she manages to recover, to get back up on her two feet—

And then they're facing off again, circling now, each a little hesitant even though they know one another's fighting styles as well as their own. She could fight him in her sleep; she's done it before. But it's never easy being the one to start the second wave. By then, emotions have always changed, and no one's head is totally clear anymore.

She takes a wild chance, breaks the stalemate and aims a fist at his head, but he parries quickly, knocking her thin arm out of the way. She's barely out of the way when he lunges forward, going for her ribs again—damn him, she thinks, realizing that he's aiming for the same place as before—but she manages to stay out of range. For a couple minutes, they dance back and forth, fists up, limbs lashing out as they get closer, and then falling back to spread out again. Neither lands many good hits.

So this is going to be one of _those_ fights, Jane thinks, spitting out a sigh in frustration as they continue circling. She hates when their practices get like this, when they deteriorate to nothing more than the two of them just orbiting around each other, trying, trying, trying, but neither really getting anywhere. It's tedious and it makes her impatient, often angry.

And he knows this.

She can see it in his eyes—he's keeping his face straight, but there's a smile in his eyes. He's _enjoying_ this. He knows she's close to breaking and doing something stupid out of frustration, and he knows that means he'll win.

She can't have that. She hates it when he wins. He's so damn smug afterwards.

Jane almost curses aloud—she's been so stupid! She's only been thinking about physical weaknesses, and that's only half the fight, especially between two opponents that know each other as well as she and Kurt do. The rest is mental. You fuck with you opponent's head long enough, and no matter how good they are, they're going to make a mistake. They're going to lash out.

Jane presses her lips together to hold in a smile. Well, at least now that she knows his game, she can try to beat it. He's expecting her to get fed up and strike out in anger—why not give him what he's expecting? And then…

She can feint, drawing him in for what he thinks is the kill, and then knock him back. Knock him on his ass. He isn't the fastest on his feet, Jane knows, and if she can get close enough to knock his legs out from under him without letting him grab her first—

She knows the success rate with this plan isn't 100%. It might not even be fifty. But it'll be worth it, if she can be the smug one after this. After all the confusion and anxiety he's caused her these last few weeks, she thinks, she deserves this. _He_ deserves this. He deserves to pay for always _being there_ for her, or _not_ being there—for _never_ explaining himself either way—and punching him is just _so_ much easier than discussing their situation like adults. So much more satisfying.

"Well? Are we going to do this all day?" she snaps, circling with him, fists up as they move together, mirroring one another. She took care to make her voice harsher than usual—but not too abrasive so that he'd notice—and she caught the briefest flash of a smile on his face as he heard the frustration in her voice. So he thinks he knows what's coming. Wait til he sees… She has to bite her lower lip so she won't grin.

"You tell me," Kurt replies. "You're the one who's barely made any moves since we started." He smirks, "Don't tell me you're getting all soft on me now, Jane."

"I'll tell you I'm getting bored."

He laughs at that, breaking focus for a moment—and she sees her in. She lunges forward, aiming for his chin, and he just barely manages to block it in time. That's fine, Jane thinks to herself, allowing the momentum of the hit to bring her to him. She kicks out a leg to knock him to the mat—but for once he's too fast, he dodges out of her way, and for a second he's just gone, disappeared somehow—

And then his arms are around her, and she doesn't even have the breath to curse, because he's holding her too tight: one arm hooked around her throat and the other pinning both her arms back, and though she tries to fight against him, he's too big, too heavy. She tries to wrestle an arm free, to elbow him in the ribs or the gut as he holds her from behind, but he's stronger than her, and strength is hard thing to fight back against when it has its arms locked around you, cutting off your air and immobilizing your limbs.

Weller's voice sounds in her ear, following up her thoughts, "I put you in a hold, you're down in under ten seconds, Jane." She can feel the muscles of his right arm tighten around her neck, and even though she knows she's safe, even though she knows he would never hurt her, the situation is becoming more real. Her breathing grows shallow, quick, her nostrils flaring. It's just the strength of those arms of his against her windpipe; that's it. There's nothing else in the world. There's no escape, not unless she finds one. "What do you do, Jane? What are my weaknesses? Where do you hit? Think."

She tries to swallow, tries to remember. What had she been thinking of before? His back, his legs? She can't reach his back, not a chance; but, wait, his feet are right next to hers—

She tries—hooking her leg around his to upset his balance, get herself free—but he counters quickly, ready for that route, and slams his leg against hers before she can even try to flip him. She shakes under the force of his body weight ramming into hers, but somehow manages to steady herself, gasping for air.

"Come on," he coaches, his breath hot in her ear, his face pressed up against hers, so close that she can feel the scruff of his beard against her ear and hair. "You can do better than that. I know you can do better. You've got five more seconds. I've got weaknesses like everybody else. Think of something. Come on, Jane. _Think_."

Her heart's beating faster now, pounding in her chest beneath the cage of his arms, and she wonders, if she doesn't find a way to counter him, will he really put her out? It'll certainly teach her a lesson, and Weller likes his lessons.

"Two seconds. What are you going to do? If you lash out, you can save yourself. Let's go, Jane; thinking time's over _. Act._ I know you've got something up your sleeve, now _show me_."

The idea comes to her like a bolt of lightning—or another one of his punches to the ribs—and she doesn't have time to think, or to recover from it, and so she just does it: She turns her face towards his that's so close to hers, turns her mouth towards his that's been yammering in her ear, and she kisses him.

It's an awkward angle—her lips can only reach one small corner of his mouth—but his reaction is instantaneous nonetheless. His arms tighten around her immediately in shock and—for just a second—she actually does think he's going to put her out, if only by accident. But then his arms loosen, and grow soft around her, and it's no longer his fists holding her in place but his hands: one cupping the back of her neck and the other her side, and they're both suddenly so gentle, somehow, despite his gloves, despite the fight they were just having.

He cranes his neck to the side to be closer to her, to take her mouth more fully in his, and then—before she can even breathe, even register what's happening—he's spinning her in his arms, wrenching her body to his, taking her face in both his hands, and kissing her fiercely.

When he sighs into her mouth, Jane can feel his breath, warm and intoxicating, and for a few seconds she's dizzy, lost in it. In the feel of him, the reality of what's happening between them, and the fact—It is a _fact_ , she thinks gleefully—that he's kissing her back. The fact that he _wants_ her, perhaps as much as she wants him, after all that distance and confusion and mixed messages. For a time, that realization alone consumes her, body and mind, and she can't do anything except wrap her arms around him and kiss him back too, knowing already that she'll keep kissing him until he pulls away, and if he never does… Well, she wouldn't mind all that much.

It isn't until his hands leave her cheeks, and migrate to her hair, and the small of her back, tugging and pulling her desperately to him, that she remembers the reason they're here. The reason they came to this training room in the first place. The reason she decided to kiss him when he had a hold on her.

She opens her eyes, sees his closed—and just like that, she's back in the real world.

He's gone, completely fallen into the kiss, and she knows this is her moment. The upper hand she was looking for earlier. The weakness.

It only takes a second. She steps a little closer to him, marshals herself, and wills her mind to focus on her body as a separate unit from his. It's harder to do than she expected, what with his hands all over her and his mouth all but glued to hers, but she manages it. And then she strikes—first, by swinging both her arms out to cut off his and release herself from his grip; and second, by swiping a foot beneath his legs to take him down.

It's bittersweet, the way his lips are wrenched from her so abruptly—but there's a flare of triumph, too, as she watches him crash to the ground, flat on his back. It's probably the only time she's seen him powerless.

He groans aloud, floundering on the floor for a moment, blinking in surprise, and even though she's still running hot on her victory—on both of them—Jane winces at the sight of him. She should've thought about his back before she slammed him down like that. She could've been a bit more gentle.

"Jesus Christ, Jane," Kurt bites out from the floor, breathless. He reaches behind him to massage his shoulder as he struggles to sit up. Glaring up at her, he somehow finds enough breath to shout, "That is _not_ how you incapacitate an opponent!"

Still riding high on the fact that she beat him—and the fact that he had been kissing her back—Jane can't help but grin, despite his obvious anger. She has a feeling it's just a front. "Maybe it's not how you do it." She holds out a hand to help him up, but he refuses, waving her away as he struggles to his feet on his own.

She crosses her arms, and shakes her head at his stubbornness. But even that can't wipe the smile off her face. "Oh, don't be a sore loser. It worked, didn't it? And I bet if I did that in the field—"

"You are _not_ doing that in the field, Jane."

Jane can't help but laugh at the immediacy of his response, the sudden fury in it. She wonders if that's wounded pride or perhaps jealousy that she's hearing sharpening his tone. She'll take either, really. "You said we were working on weaknesses." Jane shrugs, unstrapping her gloves as she turns away. "Don't be upset with me just because I happen to know yours."

Kurt watches her go, dumbstruck once more by her actions, as she heads back towards the women's locker room without another word for him. And even though he lost, even though she caught him off-guard and beat him down to the mat like a champ, he still has to bite back the urge to ask her to come back, to go another round. Or five. Instead, he just settles for watching her walk away, unable to wipe a smug smile off his face, despite the fact that his back is _killing_ him and he's got a crick in his neck from kissing her at such an awkward angle. It's worth it, it all is, just to watch her go. To watch her look over her shoulder just before she steps into the women's locker room, and catch her smile at him. To know that she'll be back soon, and he'll be waiting for her.

x x x

 **Author's Note:** Thank you for reading! And thank you to S for the ask that started it all! :D Please leave your thoughts below if you have some!


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